


Relief

by nightcourthighlordrhysand



Series: Moriel [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Injury, Injury Recovery, through ACOMAF that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcourthighlordrhysand/pseuds/nightcourthighlordrhysand
Summary: Prompt: Can you write a moriel fic of the moment Azriel wakes up after what happened in acomaf?





	Relief

**Author's Note:**

> This was written post ACOMAF and pre ACOWAR so no spoilers but also it won't fit ACOWAR events

Azriel’s eyelids glowed orange with the light from the rising sun through the eastward facing window, his belly pressed against a firm mattress, neck twisted at an awkward angle against the copious pillows. He bit back a moan at the aches pervading his stiffened body, assessing the state of his limbs, eyes still pressed closed against the spears of light slicing across whatever bed he was laid out on. As he took inventory of his injuries, beginning by wiggling toes and fingers, then working his way inward, he sucked in a breath when he attempted to shift his torso. 

The shock of pain coupled with his gradually waking mind brought back the events of the previous night – _or was it more?_ – back with startling clarity. Blood and pain, severing Rhysand and Feyre’s bond, the Archeron sisters’ change – all of this came in flashes, the only knowledge Azriel had managed to absorb in between bouts of mind numbing pain that radiated through his body. There were points where he wondered if the shock to his heart would end him before the blood loss. 

But somehow it hadn’t. He knew it was Feyre’s actions that got them out, and he owed it to her to make the sacrifice worth it, and then return the favor by extracting her from the Spring Court, even if he had to raze it to the ground to make good on his silent vow. As soon as he determined where exactly he was. 

He’d blacked out pretty much simultaneously with Rhysand’s scream as the bond broke, so he couldn’t be sure, but given the subtle scent of jasmine and the cool breeze drifting from what he guessed was the window, Azriel was fairly certain he’d been brought back to a room in the Court of Dreams.

Cracking one eyelid, Azriel tried to push his upper body out of the cocoon of blankets and pillows, only to be met with agony emanating from aching chest and through his entire body, fire riding along his nerve endings. He clenched his scarred fists as his eyes drifted closed again, a lithe figure darting toward him at his bark of pain.

Cool fingers brushed across his forehead as Mor’s soothing voice cut through the cloud of anguish, “I’m here. Don’t move. I’m here.”

Now that he knew he had at least a small audience, Azriel nearly bit through his tongue with the effort of holding back his cries of discomfort and devastation as the wrecked state of his body truly sunk in.

More stroking, this time through his lank hair, presumably quite dirty from days without washing and excessive exertions, “You don’t have to put on a brave face Az.”

He quirked a brow in question, finding at least one square inch of space on his body that wasn’t riddled with injuries. Mor snorted, “I’m not blind. I see your jaw clenching. And more than that, I know how hurt you are physically, not to mention the mental pain. So just let it out.”

Azriel let out a smooth breath through his dry lips; he couldn’t show the pain. Couldn’t own up to it. From his earliest days pain was something to be hidden, a weakness others would exploit if allowed. And the only way to _not_ allow it was to never confess, always hide. So that’s what he had done, what he still did.

“You’re not weak. And I won’t think any less of you. How could I?“ Mor’s fingers slipped down his temple, over his jaw, a single one tracing his cupid’s bow. It seemed in this twilight of reality, Mor temporarily abandoned her reservations about becoming something _more_ , or at least Azriel finally allowed himself to see, even if it was just a little, the bits of affection she offered. He let out another sigh, a different kind than before, as her hand cupped his jaw and her face drew closer, casting shadows across his form.

Tentative lips brushed across the corner of his brow, gone before they were truly there, yet she stayed close enough that her breath whispered across his brow as she spoke, “Don’t hide. Not from me.”

Whether from the trauma, or her touch, or the simplistic affection of her words, Azriel finally broke, a shuddering wail bubbling up from his chest as he inhaled and exhaled rapidly, each breath warm across his pillow, his rippled hands clenching and unclenching against the sheets.

Without hesitation, Mor’s hand gripped his, wrenching it from the crumpled bedding and clenching it between her own as she slid to her knees. She clenched their joined hands to her chest, her heart beating rapidly beneath. Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, colors floating across the blackness like fireworks, a single warm tear slipping down his cheek and falling to the pillow.

Blinking rapidly, he cracked his eyes open once more, finding Mor’s face staring into his worriedly, framed by waves of golden hair backlit by the now fully risen sun. Eyes never leaving his face, she lifted his hand to her mouth, pressing her lips to his blemished knuckles, “I’m here. It’s alright.”

Pushing past the pain and the flood of feelings rushing past the walls he’d erected dutifully over centuries of self-denial, walls that seemed to be as shredded as his wings, Azriel allowed himself to stroke the back of her hand with a broad thumb as he opened his mouth to ask for an update on… _everything_.

As if she could read the question in his eyes, Mor’s expression turned hard, “No. We are not discussing _anything_ right now because you are on strictly enforced bed rest. You know all you need to know for the time being.”

Deciding argument would likely deliver little success, he prioritized his questions, hoping starting small would eventually lead to a full explanation, “Feyre?”

Mor’s expression shuttered, the light in her eyes dimming at the mention of her friend, “Gone. With Tamlin.”

She bit out the last part, eyes reigniting with a fire of equal parts revenge and anger as she contemplated the High Lord of the Spring Court. Before he had a change to continue his line of inquiry, she cut in again, “And that’s all I’m saying Az, because if I tell you more, you’ll be an even more insufferable patient.”

Azriel grinned at that, an expression probably translating to something more like a grimace given the pain that still echoed through his body. Despite her declaration that the conversation was over, Mor put in one more piece of information, “Feyre is gone, but she’s sill Rhysand’s mate, and she’s our High Lady, loyal to Rhysand, us, and the Court.”

The state of affairs as she’d so briefly sketched it was precisely what Azriel had guessed, but all the more heartbreaking at its confirmation.

As he became more awake, leaving his fitful but deep sleep behind, Azriel rapidly became dissatisfied with his position, soreness purely from sleeping on his stomach ran through his corded neck, “What do I have to do to convince you I can sit up?”

Mor shot him a look, but he pressed on, “My neck is sore and my back is aching. I never sleep on my front.”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she pulled away from the bed, joints popping in the process. She strode toward the far side of the room beyond his line of sight and Azriel briefly entertained the thought that he’d bothered her enough that she’d given up and gone off to find a less obnoxious, less _dejected_ male to spend time with. But he quickly shunted that thought to the side. Whatever her faults, disloyalty and abandonment were not among them.

She appeared once again, dragging one of the chairs specifically fashioned to allow wings to freely move and placed it nearby, nestled between the emerald chaise and the shimmering quartz end table, “You can sit here, for a little while,” she eyed him, as if second guessing herself, but continued nonetheless, “The minute I see you getting faint I’ll have you pinned to that bed in seconds.”

Mind catching up with the threat delivered by her mouth, Mor’s mouth dropped open, and for the first time, Azriel watched a pale blush spread across her cheeks as she struggled to amend her statement, “I mean-“

Azriel let out what passed as a chuckle, fighting to push the thought of Mor pinning him down _anywhere,_ let alone a bed, from his mind, “Understood.”

He hesitated a moment, but Mor seemed to read his thoughts, “I’ll help you move.”

With short, agonizing movements, they managed to shuffle his battered form over to the chair, where he settled down with a huff, beads of sweat dripping down his temples, running over the planes of his chest tightly wrapped chest. He opened his eyes, expecting to meet Mor’s gaze, only to find her eyes following the sweat as it trailed down his torso before they darted back to his and she shifted back to nursing.

“Are you comfortable? I mean considering the circumstances?" 

Azriel nodded as she poured two tall glasses of icy water, offering one to him as she gulped her own greedily, perching on a nearby footstool, tension written throughout her form.

Searching for something to say, Azriel began to ask after the rest of the Inner Circle as Mor spoke, their voices melding in an unintelligible din. He gestured for her to speak first. Biting her lip, she heaved a great sigh and lifted her eyes to his, “I’m sorry.”

His train of thought screeched to a halt at her words, “What?" 

She plowed on, her hesitance overcome, at least temporarily, “It’s my fault. I should’ve seen- we should’ve been more careful-”

Brow furrowed, Azriel closed his eyes, expression stormy as Mor stuttered to a stop. Silence reigned for a handful of moments until the Shadowsinger spoke, “Most of my life, centuries, my worth has been based on my strength, my innate power. I was nothing to no one until I proved I was better, faster, stronger.”

Tears welled silvery in Mor’s dark eyes as she clenched her hands around her empty glass, guilt pressing over her chest as his words gave credence to her greatest fears, as she fully grasped what this meant to Azriel, beyond what she knew from observance.

As she let out a shuddering sob, Azriel pressed on, voice low and strong, “But I would gladly surrender everything, all my strength, a thousand times, feel this burning pain of my injuries, the ache of weakness and helplessness, for the rest of my immortal life if it meant you would live.”

Mor stilled, tears running in rivulets down her flushed cheeks as she stared into Azriel’s honest face, knowing it was true, that was who he was, his life dedicated to service, protection. And right then, his face blazing with bald truthfulness she knew his confession meant more than that innate instinct, something stronger between them. She felt it thrum between them, an invisible tether that seemed new and as old as time itself all at once.

Slowly, deliberately, she closed the space between them, kneeling before him, his strong thighs surrounding her ribcage as she grasped his face between her hands and wordlessly pressed her lips to his. A kiss of thank you, but more than that a promise, a beginning, the first of many. Her tears slid down the smooth bridge of her nose, running over his chiseled face as she slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, his mouth opening to swallow her moan as their breaths mixed intimately and his hands slid over her torso, pressing her closer.

As their kisses slowed to short, chaste presses, Mor pulled back infinitesimally, eyes darting back and forth between his, fingers stroking his overgrown locks behind his rounded ears, “You are more than I ever dreamed or hoped.”

Flashing his first true grin since before Hybern, Azriel tugged her forward again, laying hot, openmouthed kisses across her temples, down her cheek bones, across her jaw, before pressing his forehead into the crook of her neck, breath warm and heavy across her collarbone, “Likewise.”


End file.
